


Pick Me Up and Dust Me Off

by zerostumbleine33



Series: Bent [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Sexual Content, Substance Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerostumbleine33/pseuds/zerostumbleine33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They know where the colt is and everything is going according to plan, barring the familiar face that shows up unexpectedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When the Levee Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sarah (ssjdebusk) and Lily (lilykep) for beta-ing the second half of my story!

_“Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”_

_― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas_

 

August 2014

**Chapter 9: When the Levee Breaks**

Dean slams his fist into the wooden wall of the cabin, ignoring the searing pain that spreads from his knuckles up his arm. “How can you say this is suicide? We know where the colt is and we’re going after it; end of story. This is what we’ve been working towards for years, Cas,” he says, his voice booming in the small cabin that only seems to be getting smaller.

Cas laughs, tipping his head back, his eyes glazed. Dean frowns more intensely, if it’s possible. Cas rubs his hand across his long unshaven chin, and stands up from the bed. “Don’t say _we_. I’ve wanted no part of this plan from the inception.”

Clenching his jaw, Dean holds in his anger that is ready to explode. “Oh you’ve made that fucking clear, buddy.” He walks over to the dresser, knocking off the assortment of pill bottles that liter the top. Dean can feel his chest heaving as his fingers clench and unclench into tight fists. Across the room, Cas calmly shrugs as he picks up a joint from his nightstand.

It’s enough to send Dean over the edge, the calm utter indifference emanating from Cas, with his glassy eyes and sarcastic smile. He’s across the room before he even realizes it, pinning Cas against the wall as Cas drops the joint to the floor, snuffing it.

“You don’t give a shit about anything anymore do you,” Dean growls.

Cas leans forward and presses his lips to Dean’s in a forceful, passionate kiss. Dean holds Cas’ arms tighter against the wall but doesn’t tell Cas to stop. Sliding downwards slightly, Cas sucks on Dean’s neck, eliciting a moan from Dean. Wrapping his hands around Dean’s torso, Cas pulls their hips together tightly.

“Cas,” Dean says, his voice gravelly and low. Cas continues pulling at the button on Dean’s jeans.

Dean shoves Cas backwards, trying not to be too forceful. “Dammit, Cas. I’m trying to talk to you.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow, a mean glint in his eyes. “Are you trying to remind me to be a good soldier, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas, actually I am. I’m trying to remind you that you’re supposed to be my right hand man but you’re too busy on your knees.” The words come out more like an evil hiss that Dean is shocked to hear coming from himself. The brunt of similar comments from biker and truckers at every bar in his youth, to the old leader of this camp, even his own father. He wants to take the words back but they hang between them like black smoke.

Cas pushes Dean away from him and crosses the room to grab a bottle of pills on the ground, knocked over by Dean. He takes a few, slowly and steadily, as Dean watches with silent and unmoving fury. When he’s done throwing back a few pills, he looks back at Dean, holding his gaze with a harsh glare. In a mock military salute, Cas brings his hand to his head, “Stop sucking dick, got it. Commands straight from our fearless leader. Yes, _sir_ ,” he spits out, with emphasis on the last word.

“Fuck you, Cas.” Dean says, his own words caught in his throat, unable to mutter any real sort of retort or comeback.

“This is why no one sticks around, Dean.” Cas says after a moment, flippantly almost if it weren’t for the small quiver in his lower lip as he tries to appear unbothered.

Dean blinks a few time and sits back on his heels for a moment, allowing the insinuation to sink in. “Excuse me?” He says, his teeth gritted and molars grinding as he clenches his jaw.

“You don’t take anyone else into account other than yourself,” Cas shrugs as if the words don’t carry any weight, “why do you think Sam left?”

“So what? You think _I_ started the apocalypse?”

“Didn’t you though?” Cas replies, tilting his head in a manner that disgusts Dean and reminds him of a person he used to know; someone that’s gone now.

After a long pause, Dean nods a few times, holding in his own disgust. “Oh, okay I get it, Cas. You blame me for this? For everything? Well screw you”. Dean turns to leave before he throws a punch, his blood pulsating in a loud rhythm in his head. His hand stops above the door handle and he hesitates for a moment, the words coming out of him in a quiet mumble. He doesn’t want to say it but he has to, “Don’t you ever mention Sam to me again. We’re done, Cas.”

As he stumbles out of the cabin, he slams the door behind him, allowing the echo to reverberate in the cool August air of the quiet camp. A few heads turn, Chuck looks over at Dean from the supply tent but doesn’t come questioning, to Dean’s relief.

*********

The sun has set and Dean finds himself in Risa’s cabin; a not wholly unusual thing over the past few months. It’s easy; there’s a familiarity in the type of camaraderie they have. He cleans his gun, wiping the dirty cloth over the barrel in a soothing manner. It’s a task he’s been able to do in his sleep since childhood. There’s a quiet monotony in it. Risa doesn’t ask him why he keeps cleaning his gun like it’s an obsession. She doesn’t ask anything of him.

Which is really the whole problem here, and Dean knows it and he assumes she knows it too. There’s no pretense between them, but it’s familiar and it’s easy. When nothing is easy, the ease of companionship takes on a whole new seduction in the haze of a light inebriation. The bottle of cheap whiskey beneath his make-shift bed is half empty and he reaches for it again, fingers grasping the bottle tightly. He caps it and tosses the bottle to Risa, who gladly drinks a healthy portion.

“Don’t know how many more nights we got like this,” he says to her with a wink. It feels forced, it feels like a flirtation that he doesn’t know how to follow through with.

She unlaces her boots and kicks them off before taking another swig. She’s got long, tan legs, and Dean can admit that he’s looked before. Hell, he sleeps in her cabin several times a week and he’s got eyes. She rolls her eyes at him and tosses him the bottle of alcohol.

“Are you really gonna give me some cheap ‘last night on Earth’ bullshit?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

He shrugs and continues to drink, allowing the room to spin and the corners of his vision to begin darkening. He doesn’t make up excuses for himself and Risa doesn’t ask him to. The lights have been out for some time, and Dean thinks he’d fallen asleep but he can’t be sure. One leg is hanging off the side of the bed and he’s got the empty bottle of alcohol cradled in the crook of his arm. He blinks a few times and notices he’s next to Risa, in _her_ bed.

He knows it’s stupid, and he can’t quite blame the inebriation, but he does it anyway. Anything to curb the thoughts of Cas, of Sam, and the mission ahead of them tomorrow. She snores gently and in the dim lighting she looks like a memory from long ago, maybe it’s Lisa or Cassie or any of the other girls who had been like warning posts on his trip down a terrible path, none of them able to deter him.

“You awake?” he says, his voice raspy and low in the deafening silence.

Risa turns in her bed with a groan. “Well now I am”. Their faces are inches apart and Dean can’t rationalize why this is a bad idea, so he kisses her.

She tells him that it’s okay, that she wondered how long it would take before they wound up here. Dean’s not sure how much he wants her or if he just wants what she stands for; what he could never have. He had to fall for an asshole angel who happened to be a guy and it turned his world upside down and somewhere along the way he lost himself. He clings to the sides of her face as he kisses her, his hands caressing her long dark hair, willing himself to want it.

He tells her the lines he’s used since his teen years. He tells her that they have a connection, that he has never felt this way with anyone else, that he’s just complicated and a mess. The words pour out of him so effortlessly and he’s shocked at how simple it is really. All the teenage dream years spent sneaking into girl’s rooms (sometimes guys) and telling them how much he cared because he knew he’d be gone in a day, packed up across the country chasing some monster. He’s still chasing his demons he realizes and he sits back, looking at her, seeing slightly through the haze.

There’s a heat between them, both shirtless and panting slightly as they reassure one another of half meant admissions of desire, but Dean feels an inevitable pull. The lies that tumble from his tongue remind him of a lie he’d lived for so long and he’s reminded of his father and the words from Cas that felt like a slap across the face. He sits back on his heels, sifting through his well-used bank of excuses and tries to conjure one that will hurt Risa the least. He leans forward and kisses her on the lips.

“Not like this Ris,” he says shaking his head. He waits for her to nod back at him, biting her lip slightly. She looks younger like this, her own walls down, and he feels even more like shit. Maybe she had needed it like him, needed someone; but Dean has someone and he can’t. Or he _had_ someone, but he do this and turn into some he hates even more than he hates himself now.

He puts his shirt back on, pulling his green coat over his arms quickly, stifling his cowardly feeling. He knows all he’s been doing lately is running; running from Cas and from himself but it’s all he knows. Risa tells him she understands and gives him a weak smile. Her words go in one ear and out the other.

Closing the door to her cabin he looks up at the dark sky, taking in the dying sound of summertime insects as the cold winter threatens them early once again. He’s unsure of where to go, where to sleep. He’s homeless and the anger wells up from deep inside his chest once again. The words he’d been ignoring all day, the accusations from Cas. Dean clenches his jaw, running his hand over the map in his pocket, the thing that would bring them all redemption.

Dean thinks Cas is probably right; it’s a suicide mission. He looks around at the camp, the sullen atmosphere. It’s not like it was before; people with a purpose or at least a reason to keep living. There’s some void that crept in, it divided them all and maybe Dean was too bloodthirsty to see it. They’re smaller too, each supply run is more dangerous and further away. Cas may be right about it being a suicide mission but Dean doesn’t see them having any other choice. With an impending winter ready to snuff them out; they either ice the devil now, die trying, or die starving at the camp anyway in the bitter cold.

He thinks on all those years ago when he made a comment about them being Thelma and Louis and driving off a cliff together. He thinks it wouldn’t be so bad now; no dick angels in heaven now either. He’s almost there before he even realizes where his feet had been taking him. Having become the thing again that it had always been; the impala was his refuge and where he could get away to think.

As he walks up to the old worn down car, he sees another figure looking inside the driver’s side door; a man in a blue shirt who looks all too familiar. The hunch of the shoulders; not yet as burdened as they are now, but Dean recognizes the similarity. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling out his gun and swinging the butt of the gun swiftly at the back of the figure’s head, just a moment after their green eyes meet.


	2. Crestfallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And all I ask you  
> Is for another chance  
> Another way around you  
> To live by circumstance, once again"

August 2014

**Chapter 10: Crestfallen**

Dean wakes up with his head pounding, his right hand cuffed to an old iron ladder of some sort, and staring directly into the face of, well, himself. There’s no denying it really; he recognizes the same pissed off set of his jaw and the way he holds a shotgun like he was born with it. He’s got a few more lines to his face, his voice is gruffer as if it’s been fed a steady diet of cheap alcohol and not much else; but it’s him.

“What the hell?” he says, the only thing that seems to be fitting at the moment.

The whole thing is surreal, talking to himself. “Damn I’m an asshole,” Dean can’t help but think as his future self leaves him handcuffed the whole time they talk, which isn’t very long given their strange circumstances.

“Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know,” his other self says.

Of course he has to prove he’s who he says he is; Dean from the year 2009. Apparently in his older years, he’s become wiser or perhaps just more untrusting. Dean thinks, ignoring some of the less kosher memories that he’s suppressed for years. He picks something in the middle group; something he’d never tell anyone but wouldn’t kill them for knowing.

He smirks to himself just remembering it, the girl he’d dated for a short while; a very short while. She’d had ivory skin, the darkest eyes, and even darker bedroom kinks. He remembers it fondly, even if he’d never even admit it to Sammy.

“Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it,” he says; an undeniable fact.

It does the trick because his future self can’t argue it. The other Dean seems a little more willing to open up, so Dean presses him for more information. It’s like a version of the “Parent Trap” gone wrong and he becomes uneasy with the lies he watches his future-self spew out. The conversation draws to a close as the other Dean starts grabbing his stuff, packing up.

“Whoa, you’re just gonna leave me here?” he asks, looking up at his other self.

“Yes. I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of “The Parent Trap”. So, yeah, you stay locked down.”

Dean can’t quite argue with not trusting himself, but as his future self leaves he can’t help but mutter “dick”. Sitting handcuffed for a few hours is a less than ideal situation but he works quickly to pull a nail out from the wooden floor, hoping to free himself before his asshole future-self returns.

It takes some time but he’s free just in time to hear the rustling of some people outside in the camp. He didn’t have much of a chance to see it in the dark and then he’d been knocked out before spotting more than a few patrol people. He checks the windows and doesn’t see himself outside anywhere, and figures its safe.

Of course the first thing that happens is he’s approached by Chuck of all people. The last one he’d have put money on to still be around. He gives some bullshit answer which doesn’t seem to help since apparently the other version of himself is in charge around here and must give better orders than his half-ass response but he doesn’t have much time to come up with better excuses. Some girl, apparently named Risa, is pissed off at him and it’s not really anything new but she swings like she can pack a punch and he dives behind Chuck.

The situation is clear enough; Dean’s still fucked up in the romance department and he can’t help but chuckle slightly to himself. Some things never change, he thinks. “Oh, jeez. I'm getting busted for stuff I haven't even done yet.” He says under his breath.

“What?” Chuck asks, confused.

“Uh, never mind. Hey, Chuck, is...Cas still here?” Dean asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. After all, he did see that photo where Cas was with him. He knows it’s a long shot but he’d be happy to just see the guy at this point, and maybe he’d have a chance of getting out of this rabbit hole.

Chuck’s response is odd. With a small chuckle he says, “Yeah. I don't think Cas is going anywhere.”

Dean’s unsure what Chuck means but he gives him a look as if he should know best. He looks around at the camp, trying to decipher which cabin Cas might be in. He figures he could ask Chuck but he’s already come off like a crazy person. Luckily, Chuck gestures towards a cabin and gives him a pat on the back. “Probably not the best time to go apologize but it’s worth a shot I guess?”

“Apologize?” Dean asks, cocking his head to the side. He’s never been the apologizing type and he can’t imagine douchebag version of himself is even better at it.

Chuck laughs and taps a finger back on his clipboard. “Work to do, but good luck” he says with a smile as he scurries away.

Dean looks around the camp again quickly to make sure there’s no sign of his other half before he heads over to Cas’ cabin. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he was excited and extremely relieved to know that Cas was here. He’d been surprised when he saw that photo back at Bobby’s; he’d never have expected Cas to stick around so long. He takes the steps quietly, listening to the sound of a voice inside.

He pulls aside some beaded door covering, rolling his eyes at the cheap décor inside but is even more shocked to see Cas leading some sort of spiritual ritual on the floor, surrounded by several women. Cas sees him, winking suggestively and Dean’s eyes widen even more when he hears Cas tell the women to get washed up for an orgy. A small seed of something like jealousy sparks in him, and his good mood about finding Cas turns to dust in his mouth.

“What are you, a hippie?” he asks, walking in and surveying the room. It’s bigger than the other cabins and clearly it’s not just Cas who lives here. Another small spike of possessiveness stirs in him as he watches Cas stretch, facing away from him.

“I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me,” Cas says with an annoyed sigh as he turns around.

Dean tries to ignore the stubble that covers Cas’ jaw, and the longer hair that he has to admit he likes but is just so _not_ Cas; not the Cas he knows anyway. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to do much explaining, after a questionable glance down at his junk, Cas seems to know he’s not the same Dean as the one who barks orders around this place.

When Dean tells him it was Zachariah’s doing, Castiel’s response is not quite what Dean expected. Instead of anger or shock, it’s mild intrigue and a hint of amusement.

“Interesting” he says, putting a finger on his chin. The calm response grates at Dean’s nerves.

“Oh, yeah, it's friggin' fascinating. Now. Why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?” Dean says but is shocked again by Cas’ response. He’s pretty sure he’s never really seen or heard Cas laugh before but this broken chuckle is something he’d gladly forget.

“I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry, no dice.” Cas says, still laughing, his blue eyes glassy.

Dean’s not sure how he didn’t really notice it before, but it’s probably because it’s the last thing he’d expect from his tax-accountant angel. “What, are you stoned?”

Cas laughs for a moment more before turning serious, “Uh, generally, yeah,” he responds and it’s like a blow to the gut for Dean.

“What happened to you?” he asks, but he thinks he knows the answer. The hints are everywhere, from the way Chuck looked at him when he asked about Cas, to the shit in the room that makes an odd combination of hippie artifacts and rock music paraphernalia. They’re roommates. Cas is here because of him, _for_ him, and look what he turned into.

When Cas tells him, “life” is what happened to him, he looks Dean in the eyes, holding his gaze for a long time. This feels more natural, but Cas is broken, there’s something in him that is sad and lost and Dean wishes now more than ever that he could get back to 2009, when Cas was whole and put together and Sam was at least somewhere to be found.

Dean wanders over to the bed and sits down, rubbing his hands down his face. Cas watches him carefully, not saying much. He looks at Dean with a fondness that Dean can’t quite figure out so he gives him a small smile.

“Look, man, I’m sorry all this shit happened,” he says, rubbing his hands against the red comforter below him. He figures Cas was owed some sort of apology, might as well hear one right now.

Cas looks down, looking ashamed. “It’s not your fault; I mean if it is then it’s mine too so I guess I’m sorry too.” Cas chuckles again to himself and Dean looks at him, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s so weird to hear you laugh like that,” Dean admits.

Cas walks over and sits down next to Dean, looking down at his hands. “It’s just ironic, Dean. I was laughing at irony.”

“Shit, maybe I need some of what you’re smoking,” he says, but holds up his hands quickly to say he is joking as soon as Cas looks at him like he can follow through on that.

Before they can talk further, they hear the rumble of cars outside, and Cas quickly strides over to the door to look. Dean follows suit, stepping outside of the cabin.

He plans to stay hidden, keep low and then watch his future self to get some information on who the hell this guy is, because he certainly is someone Dean barely recognizes. The truck unloads, and a few guys pop open some beers in a somewhat celebratory manner, but no one is smiling. It happens faster than Dean can anticipate. One moment they are all drinking beers, and the next second he’s watching someone who looks like him (but certainly is _not_ him) put a bullet into the back of a man’s head for no reason.

It’s instinctual, “Watch out!” he says, far too late. The two other men from the truck look at Dean, confused.

“I'm not gonna lie to you. Me and him—It's a pretty messed-up situation we got going. But believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it. Until then, we all have work to do,” the other Dean says.

Expecting his finger to be pointed at him, Dean notices that he’s in fact pointing towards Castiel who is standing behind him and looking on. The guys don’t say anything, listening to their leader. Dean can’t help but wonder at what kind of power trip this guy is on and why the hell this Dean had to tell them some situation with Cas was more messed up than seeing a clone double.

He doesn’t have long to contemplate it because future-Dean pushes him into the same old cabin he’d been locked down in initially. And he tells him the truth about where he’d been, and his plan to kill the devil.

Dean doesn’t have any complaints about that plan but before he’s free to go, his future-self grabs his arm tightly. “One more thing,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Keep away from Cas”. He doesn’t wait for Dean’s response, briskly walking out of the dim cabin and out into the campground.

*********

Dean’s on board, hell he’s ready and willing to do this in his time if he can. He won’t take five damn years to find the thing but if the colt can kill the devil…that solves a hell of a lot of his problems. It’s dark outside, and he’d spent most of the day cooped up with himself, so he’s itching for some other interaction. He watches as Cas strides across the room, taking his seat near the head of the table. After the warning from his more dick-ish self, Dean has to wonder why he has to keep his distance; not that he really planned to listen anyway.

Cas seems a little more clearheaded than earlier, and his seat in the cabin denotes a position of leadership or importance. At least, of the few people there, he assumes part of the inner circle, Cas seems to be second in command. Another familiar face is there too, the woman from earlier who had taken a swing at him. She’s quick to point out flaws in Dean’s plans and clearly isn’t over whatever Dean did to piss her off.

“Are you okay?” Dean from the future asks, annoyed at her unhelpfulness.

Dean jumps in, offering a bit of the information he’d gleaned from his experience earlier in the day. “Oh, we were in, uh, Jane's cabin last night. And, apparently, we and...Risa have a connection.”

Apparently that’s the wrong thing to say, as Cas looks down with a small exhalation of air that could almost be construed as a chuckle if it weren’t for the look on his face. When Dean looks over at himself, he finds a harsh stare in his direction that warns him to not say another word.

“You wanna shut up?” the other Dean says, as expected.

So he does, he keeps his mouth shut as long as he can, which historically has never proven to be very long. When Cas makes a comment about how Dean is skilled in getting to the truth, he has to interject. The memories aren’t as fresh as they once were but he doesn’t suspect they will ever leave him; the souls he tortured on the rack in hell.

“Torture? Oh, so, we're—we're torturing again?” he says in disbelief. “No, that's—that's good. Classy.”

To his surprise, Cas starts to grin, a toothy and silly grin that would be endearing if it didn’t care a hint of malice in it for some reason. His other self glares at Cas, clenched jaw and looking angry but also a hint of deep hurt in his eyes. Dean watches their interaction closely, some pieces slotting together slowly but faster by the minute.

“What? I like past you,” Cas says, pressing some obvious buttons. Dean can’t help but wonder again why his future-self told him to keep away from Cas. He watches as the other Dean moves past the moment, pulling out a well-worn map, moving through his plan. He looks down at his feet briefly but his head snaps back up as a minute later, Cas and future Dean are arguing yet again.

Dean wishes it were harder to place this kind of argument, but he knows what it looks like. From the look on Risa’s face, she knows too. They look like some damned married couple who just got a divorce and can’t do anything but take silent jabs at one another. Dean’s not sure if he feels sick because he stumbled into his own future where he’s both a huge asshole _and_ somehow very involved with another man, or because he’d had some ideas about this sort of thing before and it never meant becoming something like _this_.

The other Dean asks, “Are you coming?” and Dean is shocked when Cas sighs and says, “Of course”.

As Castiel points out the very glaringly obvious problem with bringing himself from the past to this very dangerous mission, Dean is surprised that the other Dean brushes it off, and that Cas lets him, sitting back in resignation. When the other Dean tells them to move out and get ready, they all do so, including Cas.

He wants to ask what the deal is, why the hell he’s such an ass, and more so why is he being such a dick to Cas. He’s got a lot of questions and he feels like this isn’t really the time for most of them so he sticks to the obvious one; agreeing with Castiel’s concerns.

“Why are you taking me?”

If Dean had ever wanted to have his worst fears confirmed, he hears them now; Sam said yes to the devil and they are on a mission to kill the devil. He feels sick listening to the other Dean describe it, telling him to say “yes” to Michael and allow them to torch the Earth.

“I'm begging you. Say yes.” The other Dean says, his lip quivering. It’s the first real display of emotion Dean’s seen since he got here and it cuts straight to his gut, but he can’t agree. He won’t say it here, and he certainly won’t say it right now.

“But you won't, 'Cause I didn't. Because that's just not us, is it?”

The other Dean doesn’t wait for a response, packing up his bag, his face covered in such strong disgust and hatred. Dean knows the look, he’s seen it in the mirror and he’s felt that way about himself for so long that it’s sad, but he can’t believe it. He can’t believe that the only way to stop the apocalypse is to let it happen. He watches him walk out, his shoulders carrying the weight of the world and Dean looks down at the table his knuckles are resting on, digging hard into the rotting wood.

He almost doesn’t hear the cabin door open and close again as the sound of familiar boots walks up behind him, the faint smell of candles and pot, and something a little sweeter. Two arms snake around his waist slowly and he leans into it, the small comfort of something and someone he knows here.

“I don’t want to die fighting,” Cas whispers close to his ear, his voice deep and rough. It makes Dean’s dick twitch and he’s too embarrassed to let it continue when clearly Cas has the wrong version of him.

Dean turns around quickly pushing Cas back slightly. He smiles sheepishly at Cas and shrugs his shoulders, “Wrong Dean,” he says. His cheeks flush and his ears go red, especially since he keeps imagining the strong pull of Cas’ arms on his waist and he mumbles an excuse to be outside, despite having nothing to do and no one to talk to.

He runs into Chuck who rambles on, something about toilet paper and all Dean’s mind can do is run over the information that he’s now confirmed. Him and Cas aren’t roommates; they’re partners, or whatever the politically correct terms is for two dudes who seem to be fucking and were best friends before so logically they’re some sort of _thing_ now. He’s not sure whether to have a complete meltdown over this because he’s not _gay_ , and maybe it’s just because the world ended and there’s no more good chicks around. Even Dean’s not that naïve; one look at Risa and he’s shocked he wasn’t shacking up with her.

But it’s _Cas_ , and as Chuck motions towards Dean to hop in one of the vehicles, his stomach does a little jump when he notices he’s riding with Cas. He looks around to see the other Dean but doesn’t find him. Cas must notice because he laughs slightly and looks down at the floor.

“He’s riding in another car. He’s not too happy with me right now.”

Dean nods, unsure of what to say. He thinks back to what Cas said in the cabin when he’d come up behind him. His cheeks begin to get hot again but he ignores it, looking towards the window as he speaks.

“When you thought I was him…did you ever,” Dean pauses and clears his throat, “did you get to tell him?”

He risks a look over at Cas who has a sad expression on his face. “No, I didn’t,” he says. “For the record, I also knew it was you,” he says with a small wink.

Dean’s mouth drops open a little and he faces towards the window again as his cheeks burn. They drive in silence again for a while before Cas grabs a bottle of pills, popping a few into his mouth.

“Let me see those,” he says, as Cas hands them over and asks if he wants any. Clearly no stranger to swallowing pills, Cas does so without a sip of water. Dean would be impressed if it didn’t burn a little hole in his heart to see it.

“Amphetamines?” he asks, skeptically.

“It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe.”

“Mmm. Don't get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass,” he kicks himself for the choice of words, “but—what's going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?” Dean asks, almost afraid of the answer.

Cas laughs and Dean knows the answer isn’t going to be one he likes. He asks what’s so funny, wishing the answer would be funny as well.

“Dean, I'm not an angel anymore,” Cas says.

“What?” Dean says, in almost disbelief.

“Yeah, I went mortal,” Cas replies, stating a fact.

“What do you mean? How?”

“I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months.”

Dean looks at Cas closer, the new lines etched into his face, lines carrying the worries and regrets of a mortal man. He sees it now; he sees Cas. He’s sure he’d probably deal with it the same way, the endless spiral into all things mortal that take you away from everything. He gets it now, and he can’t wait to get back to 2009, back to a Cas who isn’t broken and defeated.

“So, you're human. Well, welcome to the club,” he says, his only words and unhelpful ones at that.

“The only thing that I think we have left, Dean and me, is each other,” Cas replies after a pause, having mulled the words over in a his head.

Dean looks at him, hearing the first real bit of sincerity from Cas since he got here.

“If Dean says it's time to go out in a blaze of glory, win or lose, so be it. I'm in,” Cas says with a small sad smile, “But then....that's just how I roll.”

*********

It’s morning when they roll into their destination. Dean realizes he must have fallen asleep at some point on the drive, having not slept for a few days. Wiping the slobber from his chin, he looks over at Cas who is parking and about to turn the engine off. Dean saves the mental image of Cas driving, something he’d never expected to see.

Cas looks over at him, his eyes suddenly soft, a glimmer of the same Cas that Dean knows. He gives him a small smile in return, rubbing his eyes with his hands to force himself to wake up. It takes a moment to remember where they are and why they are there. His smile quickly turns to dread and he lets out a deep sigh. Cas pats him on the shoulder before hoping out of the car to grab some weapons from the trunk.

They park a few miles out of the city, what looks like Kansas City. The buildings are too worn down to tell. Decay and the scent of death litter the streets as they make their way quietly, guns at the ready. Dean is still shocked at the state of the world but luckily they have a safe trip, arriving to their destination without a single attack. A gut feeling tells him that something is off about it, but he ignores it, following his older self to the back gates of the Jackson County Sanitarium.

“There. Second-floor window. We go in there,” the other Dean says.

Risa looks at him skeptically, “You sure about this?” she asks, no hint of the former anger with him, but genuine concern instead.

“They'll never see us coming. Trust me. Now, weapons check. We're on the move in five,” Dean orders.

He can’t help but think back to the “fearless leader” comment Cas had made before and he watches the expression on the face of his douchier half.

“Hey, uh, me. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He waits until they are just out of earshot before asking what’s really going on. He sees the flaw in the plan, and he’s damn sure that Cas sees it too. It’s a damn trap.

“Well, then we can't go through the front,” he tells the other Dean.

“Oh, we're not. They are. They're the decoys. You and me, we're going in through the back,” his future self tells him.

Dean has to blink several times before he can fully process it, shifting his weight as he leans forward. “You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder?” he asks, “Cas, too?” He’s not sure he’s ever hated himself more. “You want to use their deaths as a diversion?”

“Oh, man, something is broken in you. You're making decisions that I would never make. I wouldn't sacrifice my friends,” he tells his apparently very fucked-up other half. He still can’t believe that he’d let Cas go in there to die alone.

“You're right. You wouldn't. It's one of the main reasons we're in this mess, actually.”

“These people count on you. They trust you.” He wants to say that Cas trusts him, but he realizes that obviously Cas knows and has known. He’s going out in his blaze of glory; and doing it for Dean. It makes him sick to his stomach.

“They trust me to kill the devil and to save the world and that's exactly what I'm gonna do,” the other Dean says, a coldhearted malice in his eyes that Dean doesn’t even recognize.

“No. Not like this, you're not. I'm not gonna let you,” he says, ready to stand his ground, to stand up for Cas. There’s no way he’d let Cas sacrifice himself.

“Oh, really?” the other Dean asks, before his fist comes flying fast and hard.

Then, darkness.


	3. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is the end  
> My only friend, the end  
> It hurts to set you free  
> But you'll never follow me  
> The end of laughter and soft lies  
> The end of nights we tried to die"

_“I believe death is only a door. One closes, and another opens. If I were to imagine heaven, I would imagine a door opening. And he would be waiting for me there.”_

_― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas_

 

**Chapter 11: The End**

When he wakes up, he hears the sound of gunfire from inside the sanitarium; the plan already in motion. He jogs around to the back entrance, looking for the version of himself from this time, the one who was willing to stop at nothing to kill the devil.

What he finds shocks him and sends a shiver running down his spine. There’s a loud crack as the white heel crushes down on the vertebrae of the body on the ground. Dean had found his other self; killed by the devil wearing Sam’s body.

“Oh. Hello, Dean,” he says, a cheap impersonation of someone he’s not.

Dean wants to do something, say something, but he’s frozen in place looking at his brother but not _his_ brother. He looks like Sam but everything about him is off, from the small mocking curve at the corner of his mouth, to the way he carries his height like he’s the king rather than shuffling down to fit in. It’s not Sam and it turns the spit in his mouth into ash and his feet feel like lead, holding him down to one spot as he watches this freak show.

The lightening crackles above and the only thing Dean can do is rely on cheap insults and stick to the truths he knows.

“You're not fooling me, you know that? With this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are,” he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

“What am I?” Lucifer asks, not quite a question but something more.

Dean continues, he doesn’t care if he’s just saying what the devil wants to hear. “You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego.” He doesn’t care that the water in his eyes obscures part of his vision and that he’d rather be looking anywhere else than at the face of his little brother, but unable to reach him.

And then he gives a sad smile that slowly morphs into a mocking frown. It’s so unnatural, so unlike Sammy, and Dean can’t stand to look at him anymore or hear his soft voice. “I like you, Dean,” he says, as Dean struggles to keep it together.

“I get what the other angels see in you,” the devil says, including himself in their ranks. Dean thinks of Cas, not even an angel anymore but better than this low-down, dirty, creature. He registers that the devil is telling him goodbye; walking away and leaving him in a grave of his own body and the body of all the other people who were sent in on this mission and died.

“You better kill me now,” he says, “Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop.”

Lucifer walks forward, his eyes shining with a hint of interest and mockery beneath the sad furrowed brows. “I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam.”

Dean’s jaw shakes at the reality, the harsh truth in front of him; the thing Cas must have known when he agreed to walk in that building as cannon fodder. Dean was never going to kill Sam, and the devil was always going to win.

“Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here,” the devil says, “I win. So, I win.”

“You’re wrong,” Dean replies, tears falling heavy down his cheeks.

“See you in five years, Dean,” Lucifer says before vanishing, leaving Dean in a graveyard of hell. As Dean turns around, Zachariah appears and puts two fingers to his forehead, bringing him back to the present.

*********

He’s not in the mood to play games, to dance around this checkerboard with another douchebag angel. He’s being offered the same thing, the chance to say “yes” to Michael, and just like the version of himself in 2014 said he say…he says no.

“You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?” Zachariah asks in disbelief, the same quiet anger simmering beneath his surface as the anger Dean saw in Lucifer.

“Oh, I've learned a lesson, all right. Just not the one you wanted to teach,” he replies, as Zach begins to advance towards him, spewing threats that Dean doesn’t have time to hear because one minute he’s in that dirty old motel room and the next minute he’s standing by the side of the road with Cas.

In his trenchcoat and backwards tie, Dean has never seen such a welcome sight. It’s such a stark difference to the Cas he’d seen in 2014 and his eyes well up again, this time in relief.

“That's pretty nice timing, Cas,” he says with a small smile, remembering the other Cas who had died for him.

“We had an appointment,” Castiel replies, and Dean puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder. It’s as simple as that really; they had an appointment and Cas was there for him. Dean had learned a lesson all right, and he sees it now in the harsh lighting of the overhead street lamp on the side of an empty one lane asphalt road.

“Don’t ever change,” he tells Cas, as sincerely as he can. He wants to tell him, don’t break yourself trying to be there for me, just be. He wants to tell him that he’s there too, that if Cas needs anything ever, he can be counted on. But he doesn’t say it, because he still has time; it’s only 2009.

Dean pulls out his phone to text Sam, because if he’s going to divert the apocalypse, he’s sure as hell not letting his little brother say “yes” to the devil.

Cas doesn’t ask questions, but Dean fills him in anyway. Sam texts Dean back almost immediately, just a set of coordinates, a few hours away. They get the impala, and Dean spends a good several minutes poring over her frame, rubbing his hands along her undented hood and unchipped paint.

They drive, silently for a while, the exhaustion finally settling into Dean’s bones. He catches himself watching Cas in the passenger seat, his profile illuminated by the passing cars on the freeway or by the light of the moon in the sky as the drive though empty farm towns where the road disappears into the blackness ahead.

It must be several hours into the trip and through the endless rows of corn on either side of the road, he sees a small alcove for a car to stop in. He doesn’t overthink it or stop and question himself because it’s been eating at him for hours. If he’s going to fix everything, it means not just with Sam, but with Cas too.

Cas looks at him quizzically, squinting both eyes. “Dean. Why are we stopping? I thought we were in a hurry.”

“Out of the car,” Dean says, ignoring the quick flash of pain across Castiel’s face. He tries to give him a small smile but Cas is already out of the car, doorhandle untouched. “Damn angels,” Dean thinks to himself but is truthfully relieved by that fact that Cas _is_ an angel.

Making the job a little easier, Cas had appeared on the driver’s side, waiting for whatever Dean had to do or say. The gravel crunches beneath Dean’s feet and a slight breeze makes him shiver slightly, or maybe it is just his nerves. Either way, his senses seem to be amped up to the millionth degree as he shuffles his feet against the ground, kicking stray pebbles around. Cas waits patiently, almost too patiently.

Dean looks up and gives him a questioning glance. “You know don’t you,” he says, surprised by the flow of relief through his veins.

Cas nods solemnly and looks to the side. “I understand if you no longer wish to travel with me,” he says.

In a highly unattractive manner, Dean leans back and laughs, smacking his hand against the roof of his car. He’s not sure if Cas could have it more wrong, and the thought only endears Cas to him even more. Working up the courage, he does what he’s been thinking about for hours in that car.

Dean grabs Castiel by the lapels of his tan trenchcoat, shoving him against the side of the car. He leans forward and presses a kiss against Cas’ lips, waiting for the inevitable shove aside and comment about it being inappropriate. Neither of which occur.

Instead, Cas leans into it, kissing him back with a hunger that Dean hasn’t experienced since his teenage years. His dick twitches in his pants and Dean knows he’s going to have a _lot_ of explaining to do when he talks to Sam but at this point he doesn’t care because he’s going to do his best to make sure what he saw in 2014 never happens.

When they finally break apart, Cas is panting slightly and a silly smile finally crosses his face. Dean grins in return, stepping back to catch his own breath and keep his erection from pressing into Cas. He’s not really sure he’s ready for _that_ yet, but he has a few years to figure it all out. He looks back at Cas and finally asks, “So how much did you see?”

Cas straightens up, clearly a little embarrassed. “It would be more accurate to say that I saw almost everything, than to explain the amount I saw.” He looks to the side again and mumbles an apology. “It was right at the front of your mind, I couldn’t help it. When I went to pick you up, I was in such a hurry that I read your thoughts as well.”

Dean laughs and points at the car, “Then you know,” he says with an eyebrow raise, “We’ve got some work to do.”

 

_FIN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Chapter titles create an accompanying playlist.


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